Devotion
by Collie Parkillo
Summary: Dahlia Hawthorne has only not succeeded in getting what she wants once. [oneshot, undertones of dahlia x iris. very angsty.]


Dahlia is sprawled out on her cot, her ankles kicking disinterestedly in the air. Her threadbare, blue prison gown droops around her hips, and her half-lidded eyes and the bored line her lips are in give Iris the impression that she doesn't even care that she's going to be executed tomorrow.

"Dahlia," Iris starts, her voice cracking.

"What." Dahlia's tone is irritable, and her expression doesn't change.

"This is the last time we'll ever see each other…"

"Don't be foolish. Remember the plan? We'll see each other again soon." Dahlia's expression still hasn't changed, and she starts playing with her hair with one slender finger. The red is gone from her locks, washed out in a bubble bath. Instead, her dark hair matches Iris's own.

Iris is quiet. She walks over to Dahlia's cot, looking for a place to sit down next to her sister, but Dahlia doesn't move. "Dahlia, I've been thinking…"

"That's a new one," Dahlia says dryly, a smile momentarily playing on her face.

Iris flushes, looking down at her folded hands. "Well…I…I thought maybe if you were to simply stay alive, it would all be much easier…" Dahlia's eyes narrow, and Iris reaches over to take her sister's hand. "Dahlia. I…I want you to live."

"Death is an easy obstacle to transcend." Iris can tell she's trying her hardest to just wave the question away.

"No, no…what I mean is…I don't want you to die at all. I…" Iris trails off, then swallows. "I want to be the one who dies."

Dahlia bolts upwards, her eyes flashing open and suddenly her teeth are gritted. "You _what?!"_

"I think…I think it would be best."

Dahlia is completely silent, her expressions seeming to waver between different façades, as though she's not sure which one would fool Iris. There's an uncomfortable silence between them, and Iris gently reaches over and starts undoing the back of Dahlia's prison gown. Dahlia grabs her wrist, batting it away.

"What, do you want to see me naked one last time?" she jeers. Her voice is faltering, though.

"No…Let me go…Let me switch with you," Iris says, looking down through her eyelashes and avoiding Dahlia's eyes. "Let me go to the execution tomorrow."

Dahlia Hawthorne is an evil woman. A murderess. A temptress. A heartless, cold, villain who kills mercilessly and breaks the heart of every man she meets. Immune to every kind of love.

Except, that is, to the unending devotion of her twin sister.

"Iris, that's completely out of the question!" Dahlia is shouting in a way Iris has never heard her yell before. "That would…that would ruin the entire endeavor!"

"No," Iris responds, her voice still quiet and calm. "It would speed it up. We wouldn't have to go through the channeling. The whole plan depends on you being successfully channeled. If you're not dead in the first place, would it not help things along?"

Dahlia is silent.

"Take my robes," Iris says, her voice now a hoarse whisper. "Go back to Hazakura. _Live."_

"Iris, I can't—!" Dahlia's grip on her sister's hands are turning her knuckles white. "This is not what I want, you fool! Don't you succumb to my every whim?! Well, this is not what I desire! I will be hanged tomorrow, not you, do you understand me, Iris?!" Iris swears that she can see flames in Dahlia's eyes.

"No…you're…you're right…" Dahlia relaxes momentarily, but then Iris disentangles their fingers. "It's not what you want. It's what_ I _want." With that, Iris pulls the prison gown off of Dahlia. It pools at the foot of the bed, a mess of blue fabric. Iris starts undressing herself, her purple robes sliding easily off of her body.

"Iris, you feeble-minded, fickle, irritating—" Her voice then suddenly breaks, the way a child's does when they can no longer argue with their parent's word and burst into tears to garner sympathy.

"Dahlia," Iris says softly, tying the prison gown around her neck. "Dahlia, go. Visiting hours are almost up."

Reporters at the execution of Dahlia Hawthorne recall a curious phenomenon. They say, without a shadow of a doubt, that as the noose tightened and the prisoner's breath ceased, she smiled.


End file.
